Whats So Great About Being Different?
by i.am.sher.locked.1118
Summary: Lucy is a wild child. Her odd habits and strange conversation is what drove most people away, but not him. After indirectly helping Sherlock, she slowly finds herself falling for the detective. First Sherlock fanfiction! Sherlock/OC and a bit of Moriarty/OC. Please read!
1. Lucy Avila

**Hello! This is my first Sherlock Fanfiction, and I have to say I'm pretty excited. I really appreciate reviews and feedback, so criticize away! The first chapter you may find dull, since Sherlock doesn't come till later. The first few chapters are mainly going to establish Lucy's character, so please bear with me. Also, the other chapters wont be this short. Anywho, I hope you enjoy!**

There was an odd silence in apartment 219. Usually the walls echoed with the sounds of merry conversation, composed of all sorts of oddities. This night, however, was different. How it was different, the Avilas didn't know, but the family somehow could not bring themselves to speak with one of them being in such a dreadful mood. The silence had been there before, of course, when the girl felt something was amiss. She just knew that there was something going on in the world that showed the ugly side of human nature, a misfortune of some sort, that she was going to hear about in the morning papers or on the Telly.

Somewhere else in London, unknown to the rest of the world, there was a man in a tall corporate building about to take one of the biggest risks of his life._ A Pill._

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The red and blue lights of police cars illuminated around the crime scene, sending off warning for passers by, or, for Lucy Avila, a sign that something interesting was going on. Lucy looked up at the building, noting that one of the top floors had police swarming it._ I knew something was wrong last night..._ She took another lick of her ice cream cone before tossing it, walking in to get a closer look. She got to the edge of the police tape, giving it a small glare, as if hating it with all her being would somehow manage to poof it away. Then, a ever so naughty thought crept into her mind...

She looked to her left...

She looked to her right...

Her fingertips tapped against the tape, running gracefully along before pulling it over her head._ Hmm. It appears as though I'm on the other side of the tape. Wonder how that happened._ She smirked to herself as she trudged her way to the door of the tower, avoiding eye contact with the officers hanging about outside. She got into the elevator with some other police men, smiling and nodding to them as if she was supposed to be there. When she reached the correct level, she sifted throughout the crowd of officers until she found a clearing. In that clearing, close to the large windows that made up the wall, was a body.

She only got a brief glimpse, however, as her favorite copper, Detective Inspector Lestrade, had noticed her presence.

"Lucy!" She ducked her head and pretended not to hear him. "Lucy, how many times do I 'ave to tell ya, you're not allowed to frolic about the crime scene!" She finally turned to face him. Her large doe eyes avoided his, and he saw her lip begin to do a childish pout which he had now become familiar with. The way she looked at him made him feel as though he had shot a puppy! And he was certain that was exactly what she wanted him to feel.

"I just wanted to look at the body..." She looked down at her shoes and twiddled her fingers like a child being scolded for coming home late.

"Yeah? Well come back with police I.D. and then we'll talk." He led her back to the elevator, watching her sad brown eyes glance back at the body longingly before finding her shoes once more.

"You know Greg, last night I felt something was wrong." Lucy piped up in her usual cheery voice. Lestrade looked at her with eyebrows raised,

"Oh yeah?" Lucy nodded, frowning at the memory of the painful gut feeling she had yesterday.

"I wonder what drives a person to do that kind of thing? To kill ones _own self_?" Lucy had often wondered about the human brain. She would of studied psychology if circumstances allowed her, but as of now her family needed her.

"I dunno..." Lestrade watched her thoughtful eyes trail blankly around the elevator before looking at him once more.

"I'm sorry, I've just dampened the mood of our lovely elevator ride." She said, but Lestrade just smiled at her. He liked her quirkiness and curious questions.

"Still...such a waste of promise..." They walked out of the building in thoughtful silence. Lucy dragged her feet a bit as they drew closer to the dreaded yellow tape which seemed to now laugh at her failure.

"Did she get across _again_?" They turned to find Sergeant Sally Donovan making her way towards them, along with Anderson.

"Hello Donovan! Hello Anderson!" Lucy gave a little smile and wave, which received odd looks instead of the pleasant greeting she silently wished for.

"Honestly, what kind of person _enjoys_ crime scenes?" Anderson said, immediately wiping away Lucy's smile._ Well you're the one who looks at dead people for a living, Mr. Anderson..._ She argued in her head, but dared not to say it aloud. Lucy always tried to see the best in people, and wanted the same to be done for her. Unfortunately, it was found to be impossible in this society.

"Well don't worry, she's out now." Greg held up the tape for her, receiving a grateful smile. Lucy gave another wave before twirling around and skipping away.

She did love to skip. And when she walked, it wasn't like a normal persons walk. Her posture seemed like a dancers with her pale, slender arms held behind her back; head high with a sense of curious charm that attracted people's attention. Her long legs took slow, graceful strides and it seemed as though she was never in any hurry. Her eyes would always travel all around her, fixing especially on people. She would often listen to their conversations, though none were especially interesting. In fact it all seemed the same to her. Still, she found herself analyzing fellow pedestrians nonetheless.

"I'm home!" Lucy called as she sprang oped the door and flung her arms outward dramatically, as if she was a friend that had come back from the war.

"There she is!" Her Uncle Elliot got up from his chair to hug her; struggling a bit in his old age. "Did you find out what had put you in such a foul mood yesterday?" Lucy's mother, Angela, stuck her head out from the kitchen,

"Was it a murder?" Lucy shook her head no, taking off her heels and stretching her toes.

"Look at that. A blister." Lucy examined her foot, purposely aggravating her family by changing the subject.

"Was it a homicide?"

"I'll have to get some different-"

"Was it genocide?!"

"Alright, alright, I'll tell you!" Lucy sat down on the sofa, crossing her legs as she waited for them to sit down as well. "It was a suicide."

"A suicide? That's all?" Her uncle seemed a bit disappointed, slumping down in his chair.

"I don't know. I didn't get to see much of the body-"

"You saw the body?!" Angela screeched, causing Lucy to cringe. "Honestly, I don't know how that poor Lestrade handles you!" Her mothers hands shot up in frustration before she got up and left to continue the dishes.

"That's the thing. He doesn't." Her uncle laughed at his wild child. He had been living with her and her mother since Lucy was 4, and ended up being a father figure to her. Her real father abandoned them for reasons that escaped Lucy. Something work related according to her mother, but Lucy wasn't sure if she should believe her. Her mother could've easily made up a story to hide what really happened.

The night went on, and the Avilas chatted and laughed for what seemed like ages until one of the felt as though their eyelids could no longer put in the effort to remain open. This was particularly odd for a household to do in that particular society. Most people just sat and watched telly, but no, not them. They liked to have actual conversations! Eventually they said their good nights, and Lucy, not feeling particularly tired, stayed up and went online.

_ Hmmm... What should I google today?_ She let her nimble fingers move on their own, forming the words:

"Purposeless skills to have."

Lucy loved having random, useless pieces of information in her brain. She enjoyed the thought of knowing little things that most people ignored, such as the fact that old leaves, in an odd way, smelled like cinnamon and that rain, to her, tasted sweet. Her face lit up at all the search results, and her eyes roamed the screen with glee. _Oh internet...I love you!_ Eventually her eyes stopped on something that stuck out to her in particular:

_The Science of Deduction_

**Yay! Intro Chapter is over! So, tell me what you think in the reviews. The other chapters won't be so terribly short either, like i said** **before, I just felt like I should do a short chapter in the beginning just to start the story up. Can't wait for Lucy to meet Sherlock! :D**


	2. Meeting Him

**This chapter took forever! Glad I finished it though! Remember to review if you've got time! I really appreciate it!**  
_

Over the past few weeks, two more apparent suicides had occurred. These suicides we're all linked together by one common factor._ A Pill._

When I heard that there was going to be a questioning session, I just_ had_ to go! I could finally satisfy my curiosity and ask about the murders without people finding it odd. They'd just think I was with some small new station somewhere, and pass me off as an over zealous reporter.

I made my was to the police station and found a line of people waiting to get in. I looked to the front of the line to find a dark, curly haired security officer checking people's phones.

"Are you here for the questioning session, miss?" He asked when I had finally reached the front. I smiled and nodded,

"Yes. Don't you think it's a bit odd for them to be so similar? The suicides I mean. If you ask me-"

"May I see your phone Miss?"

"I haven't got one." The man looked at me for a second before deeming my words true.

"Indeed you don't. It appears you spend most of your time taking care of your mother and father whom you still live with, quite sadly I must say. You're parents are both overbearing it seems, but secretly want you out of the house. You spend most of your time this morning walking through the woods somewhere out of town before going to a cafe and having a doughnut, most likely with tea. For some reason you found yourself here, perhaps just out of curiosity, but one things for sure; you are_ not_ a news reporter." The man spoke without even pausing between sentences. I stared at him in awe._ How in the world..._

"Wow... That was..." I shook my head in disbelief. The man looked at me, waiting for some sort of reaction, and I may be wrong, but I think I detected perhaps even a bit of nervousness in his eyes.

"Rude." The man frowned, obviously not the reaction he was hoping for, but honestly he shouldn't of seen any other outcome with how bluntly he spoke of people.

"_But_...it was also brilliant." I couldn't contain my smile now. The man seemed a bit taken back this, and stared at me with what seemed like an almost fascination. We stood there in silence; just staring at one another.

"Excuse me, you have a twig on your shoulder." The man said suddenly, extending his hand to brush it off for me, his hand lingering on my shoulder briefly.

"Anyway, if you ask me, I think it's a serial killing." I got back to the matter at hand. The man smiled, but it seemed to be more of a smile to himself.

"Indeed..." He muttered quietly before taking off his police jacket and hat; dashing off into the city. I watched his retreating figure until it before it became lost in the sea of people, like a spec of dust. However, I could tell he was no ordinary spec of dust. He was different. I almost hoped that he would just come back if I stayed there and stared but quickly remembered why I was there. The "suicides".

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"Preliminary investigations suggest that this was suicide. We can confirm that this apparent suicide closely resembles those of sir Jeffery Patterson and James Fillmore. In the light of this these incidents are now being treated as linked."_ I knew it! They aren't really suicides at all!_ I could hardly contain myself as I excitedly shifted in my seat. At one point, I had even caught Greg's eye and got to wave at him. He just rolled his eyes, but I could tell he was secretly happy to see me. "The investigation is on going, but Detective Inspector Lestrade will take questions now."

"Detective Inspector, how can suicides be linked?" A man asked first, causing me to roll my eyes. _What a silly question! Surely they teach you to ask better questions than that!_

"Well they all took the same poison...um...they were all found in places they 'ave no reason ta be...none of the had shown any prior indications-"

"But you can't have serial suicides!" The guys stupidity rang through my ears.

"Well apparently you can." Lestrade finished. I took this moment to finally get to speak up.

"So there was nothing linked between these three people?" They all looked at me, but I kept my eyes fixed on Lestrade.

"There's none ta be found yet, but...we're looking for it, there has to be one." Before Lestrade even finished his sentence, the room filled with the sounds of phones going off. Since I didn't have one, I looked over at someone else's.

"Well apparently you're wrong." I looked back to Lestrade with a quirky smile on my lips.

"If you've all got texts, please ignore those." Donovan attempted to keep control over the room.

"It just says wrong." The previously obnoxious man spoke up.

"Yeah, well just ignore that. If there are no more questions for Detective Inspector Lestrade I'm going to bring this session to an end."

"If they're suicides, what are you investigating?" A different man spoke up this time.

"As I say, these suicides are clearly linked, um, it-it's an unusual situation, we've got our best people investigating-" the phones went off again.

"It appears you're wrong again." I said. Lestrade gave me a look, but I just smiled at him. To be honest, I was quite enjoying this.

"One more question!" Donovan said, clearly aggravated by whomever was doing this.

"I think that these are Serial killings." I spoke up, getting everyone's attention once more.

"That's not a question _miss_." Donovan hissed at me. I smiled at her.

"Is there any chance that these are murders? And if they are, is this the work of a serial killer?" A red head with glasses helped me out.

"I-I know that you like writing about those, but these do appear to be suicides, we know the difference. The, um, poison was clearly self administered-"

"Yes, but if they_ are_ murders?" I cut him off, not needing the whole spiel on how to tell a suicide from a murder.

"How do people keep themselves safe?" The red head extended my question.

"Well, don't commit suicide." Lestrade said quite simply. "Look, obviously this is a frightening time for people, but all anyone has to do is exercise reasonable precautions. We are all as safe as we want to be." _Cue the phones!_

"Wrong yet again, Lestrade." I said without even looking at the text. Lestrade paid no attention, however, because it appeared something had caught his attention on his phone. He gave an exasperated look at the text before shoving his phone in his pocket and giving a quick thank you.

I stepped out of the building into the unforgiving cold of London, feeling particularly curious now. I would've continued on my way home if I hadn't felt something particularly cold touch my shoulder. I ran my hand across the sleeve of my dress to find a small metal clip that had apparently caused the chilling touch. I held it up eye level to inspect it closer. _A bug_. I smiled.

"Very clever, Mr. security guard." I remembered his hand lingering on my shoulder after brushing off a twig just before I had gone in. "Although now I suppose it's safe to suspect you weren't a security guard at all." I spoke into the small microphone before dropping onto the pavement and squashing it with my heel.

I decided to take a walk the rest of that afternoon. I found a nice, quiet park and wound up strolling along for hours, just people watching. I found a woman sitting on a bench reading, multiple people eating lunch, a few couples, and someone with a very cute dog. I took a quick break to sit down on the edge of the fountain. I looked a few feet away at two men shaking hands. One was a blonde-gray haired man with a cane, while the other was a larger man with a suit and glasses on. They both seemed to be exchanging pleasantries before grabbing some coffee and sitting down together._ Old friends?_ I mused before deciding to take a closer look.

"You still at Bart's then?" The thinner one asked.

"I'm teaching now. Yeah, bright young things like we used to be. God I hate them." They both laughed at this statement. I had ever so stealthily positioned myself against a nearby tree, pretending to wait for someone. "What about you, just staying in town or are ya gettin' ya self sorted?"

"Bah," the man scoffed,"I can't afford London on an army pension!"

"And you couldn't bear to be anywhere else. That's not the John Watson I know."_ John, hmm? What a lovely name._ I smiled at my newly acquired information.

"Yeah, well, I'm not the John Watson you.." John stopped himself. This caused a very awkward silence between the two. I couldn't quite hear what the man said, but whatever he said, John scoffed at. I cautiously got closer to them, still pretending I was looking for someone, and sat down at the bench across from then. I attracted Johns attention for a brief moment, but he was sucked back into the conversation.

"I dunno...get a flat share or somethin'?" John looked back at him.

"Come on. Who'd want me for a flat mate?" He said before continuing his interested gaze on me. We made brief eye contact, so I gave a small smile before finding someplace else to look so I wouldn't give myself away. He seemed to want to talk to me for some reason, but his attention was drawn back to his old friend when the chubby man spoke.

"Well, you're the second person that told me that today." John looked thoughtful for a moment.

"Who was the first?" The man didn't answer, but instead stood up.

"C'mon, I'll take you to him. He should still be in Bart's." John stood up, giving me one last glance before reluctantly following. I gave him one last smile before laying back and finding another conversation to follow. _I may be crazy, but I was beginning to think John had an interest in me._ My subconscious spoke, but I shook my head._ If he knew what I was like in real life, he'd think I was a crazy._ I shot myself down, quietly watching the other passerby's.

Tomorrow, I woke up to my mothers excited voice yelling about something I couldn't quite make out. I'm sure that to most I would seem like a morning person, but trust me, I am _not._

I grumbled into my pillow before begrudgingly lifting myself from the warmth of my bed.

"What?!" I called back, rubbing my eyes and stretching; a mighty yawn escaping my lips.

"I said I spoke with Mrs. Hudson this morning." Her mother stepped into her room and began cleaning. "Jesus Lucy...you really ought to take better care of you're room." She began heaving the books back to the bookshelf.

"What did Mrs. Hudson say?" I began brushing my hair with my fingers, still not motivated enough to get out of bed.

"What? Oh, right. She said that she managed to rent out one of her flats! You know what that means?" This woke me up.

"Neighbors." I said with a smile that probably came off as a bit maniacal. I sprung up from bed, startling my mother, and began frantically looking through my closet before finding a lovely plain white button-up blouse with a V-neck. I threw it onto the bed before rummaging through my drawers for a particular dark blue skirt I had in mind.

"Honestly, you should've waken me up sooner!" I stripped off my clothes and quickly shimmied my way into the skirt.

"Well I just now found out!" Her mother pleaded, but I wasn't really listening. I tried to button up the shirt quickly, but my fingers were fumbling all over the place, frustrating the hell out of me.

"Honey, just calm down." Her mother soothed, helping me with the mismatched buttons. I smiled at her, feeling a bit less crazy. When she was done, I tucked my shirt into the waist high skirt that fell just above my knees and slipped on some plain black heels.

"You know I've always wanted neighbors." I sat down in front of the vanity and slipped on a string of pearls.

"I know. And so have we, but there's no need to go crazy-"

"Neighbors? What neighbors?" Uncle Elliot said, barging into my room.

"Didn't you hear? Someone's moving in to Mrs. Hudson's flat!" I chirped as I combed my dark hair.

"Well we'll just have to introduce ourselves, now won't we?" He said, clearly as excited as I was. I let out a small giggle as my mother gave him a stern look,

"Elliot..." My Uncle cringed at my mothers tone. "You aren't trying to skip out on the job interview today, are you?"

"O-Of course not! I just thought that, uh-"

"You know you have to get a job!" My mother scolded. My Uncle pouted and looked to me for help.

"I'm afraid she's right. She's just barely getting by the rent!" I said as I began to put on a bit of mascara and lipstick and drew in my incredibly thick eyebrows (Yes they're thick, but they're shapely too!).

"Don't think sticking up for me will get you out, young missy. You need a job too." Now it was my turn to pout. I decided it would be best not to argue, so instead I stood up and took my leave; grabbing a black wool coat that stopped just above my knees to keep my mother from worrying about the chill (though I realized my legs weren't covered at all).

It had been only 30 or so minutes and I was already feeling anxious that no one would show up.

"Here's some tea, Lucy." Mrs. Hudson smiled down at me. I gave a quick smile before anxiously awaiting my new neighbors arrival, tapping my foot excessively. "It's so nice of you to visit! An old woman like me doesn't get to many visitors anymore."

"You? An old woman? Why, you don't look a day over 30!" She laughed before turning around to get some biscuits.

"Tell that to my hip." I smiled and took a sip of my tea, giving a content sigh and letting my foot lay still. My stillness was brief, however, and was quickly ended by a knock at the door.

"That must be-" Mrs. Hudson began, but I wasn't there anymore. I had sprinted towards the front door to finally meet the neighbors I had always dreamed of. The neighbors that would become my greatest friends._ My first friends._

I opened the door to a face I thought I would never see again.

"Security guy?!" I pointed dramatically as he turned to face me.

"Wait a sec... Aren't you the girl from the park?" John looked at me with just as much confusion as Sherlock. We all stared at each other in an awkward silence until Mrs. Hudson came in.

"Sherlock, hello!" _Sherlock?...I know that name...don't I?_

"Oh, this is Lucy Avila. She lives next door in flat 219." Mrs. Hudson introduced me.

"We've met." We all three said at the same time, surprising Mrs. Hudson.

"Well I hope it wasn't under bad circumstances. I'd hate for their to be bad blood between neighbors!" I smiled. These men were my new neighbors. I supposed the universe must have a weird sense of humor, having these men move next to me. I couldn't of asked for more.

"Well, let's not freeze to death. Come in!" Mrs. Hudson ushered them inside. Once inside, John drew his attention to me.

"I'm afraid I never got to introduce myself. I'm-"

"John Watson." I finished, much to his surprise. He gave Sherlock a look, but was ignored. "I listened in to your conversation that day in the park. I do that sometimes. Good to see you found a flat mate after all!" John looked taken back at first, giving a sort of half-smile. He opened his mouth to say something, but due to a lack of words, shut it.

"I haven't upset you, have I?" I quickly asked, "It's just that I like to people watch. I didn't mean to upset you."

"No no, it's, uh, it's fine." He scratched the back of his neck gingerly and I smiled.

"John, shall we?" Sherlock scurried up the stairs. John looked at him, then nodded, following him up the stairs. I, being the curious little creature I am, followed them.

The flat was a dark, dusty mess; very much contrasting to my flat. Books and rubbish piled up in every inch of the flat, making me wonder what sorts of odd things I could find amidst the clutter. I ran my fingers across some of the books, reading a few of the titles here and there.

"Well, this could be very nice. Very nice indeed." John hobbled over next to Sherlock.

"Yes. Yes, I think so. My thoughts precisely." Sherlock smiled.

"So I went straight ahead and moved in."  
"Soon as we get all this rubbish cleaned out" they spoke simultaneously.

"... Oh. So this is all..."

"Well, obviously I can, um, straighten things up a bit." Sherlock began tidying up a bit, obviously embarrassed.

"I think it's lovely." I twirled around, looking at all the oddities in the room, occasionally stopping to pick something up and examine it. "You know, I love the smell of old books, and I think that's exactly what this flat smells like." I found my way to the mantel piece and held up what appeared to be a real, human _skull._

"That's a skull." John pointed at me as I played with the jaw, opening and closing it.

"Friend of mine." Sherlock plucked It from my hands and placed it back, causing me to pout. "When I say 'friend' ..."

"What do you think, then, Doctor Watson? There's another bedroom upstairs if you'll be needing two bedrooms." I giggled into my hand. _Poor John._

"Of course we'll be needing two." John furrowed his brow at Mrs. Hudson.

"Oh, don't worry; there's all sorts round here. Mrs Turner next door's got married ones." John looked to Sherlock for help, but Sherlock either was ignoring it, or was in too deep of thought to hear Mrs. Hudson's inquiries.

"I'm not gay." He looked at me with a 'please don't think I'm gay' look.

"Oh, Sherlock! The mess you've made!" Mrs. Hudson called from the kitchen. I went over to help her clean up as John found a nice cushion and sat down.

"I looked you up on the internet last night." John got Sherlocks attention.

"Anything interesting?"

"Found your website, The Science of Deduction-"

"The Science of Deduction!" I realized aloud as I burst back into the living area. I pointed a dramatic finger at Sherlock, "That's why I know your name! You're the one who wrote that funny little website I found!"

"What did you think?" Sherlock smirked, but quickly frowned when John gave him a look.

"You said you could identify a software designer by his tie and an airline pilot by his left thumb." John said in disbelief.

"Yes, isn't it wonderful? I could barely follow along, but I thought the idea of it was absolutely brilliant!" Sherlock ignored me, still upset by Johns comment.

"Yes; and I can read your military career in your face and your leg, and your brother's drinking habits in your mobile phone."

"How?" Sherlock just smiled and turned away.

"What about these suicides then, Sherlock? I thought that'd be right up your street. Three exactly the same." Mrs. Hudson came out of the kitchen reading a newspaper.

"Four." He looked out of the window, and I noticed the red and blue lights reflecting in the window. "There's been a fourth. And there's something different this time."

"A fourth?" I asked, just as Lestrade came in.

"Where?" Sherlock went straight to the point.

"Brixton, Lauriston Gardens."

"What's new about this one? You wouldn't have come to get me if there wasn't something different."

"You know how they never leave notes?"

"Yeah."

"This one did." My eyes lit up with excitement. "Will you come?"

"Who's on forensics?"

"It's Anderson." Sherlock scowled.

"Anderson won't work with me."

"Well, he won't be your assistant-"

"I need an assistant." Lestrade sighed.

"Will you come?"

"Not in a police car. I'll be right behind."

"Thank you-" he said before he finally noticed me standing there. "Lucy?!"

"Hello Greg!" I smiled and gave him a small hug.

"My god, do you know everyone?" Sherlock muttered, briefly glancing at me.

"I haven't got time for this!" Lestrade reminded himself. He dashed back down the stairs, obviously going to the crime scene, where he was needed. As soon as we heard the door shut, Sherlock leapt into the air and began spinning about the room, much to everyone's surprise.

"Brilliant! Yes! Ah, four serial suicides, and now a note! Oh, it's Christmas!" Sherlock cheered as he put back on his coat and scarf. "Mrs Hudson, I'll be late. Might need some food."

"I'm your landlady, dear, not your housekeeper."

"Something cold will do. John, have a cup of tea, make yourself at home. Don't wait up!" He said, running down the stairs.

"Wait!" I went after him, catching him near the bottom of the stairs.

"What?!" he said, unable to remain still.

"I'm coming with you!" I rushed to put my coat on.

"What? No you're not! Or are you?" He spoke quickly.

"You, Sherlock, are my pass to finally be allowed into the crime scene." I explained. "They said I needed police I.D., but I think you'll do just as well." Sherlock paused for a moment and thought.

"Alright."

"Wonderful!" I smiled, "Also, I think we should bring John."

"We can't bring the whole town!"

"Yes, but I feel bad with him having to stay home alone! Besides, he's a doctor, he could be helpful."

"..."

"I really think we-"

"Of course! A _doctor_." He grabbed my shoulders, "You're a _genius_!" He ran back up the stairs to retrieve him, passing Mrs. Hudson, so I took the opportunity to call my mother.

"Mom?...yeah, I may be a little late coming home...No, it's not cause of a boy! I mean, he is a boy, but... It's not like that! Alright, I gotta go. Tell Uncle that there's some leftovers in the fridge! Love you!" I hung up right as Sherlock came bounding down the stairs, John close behind.

"Sorry, Mrs Hudson, I'll skip the tea. Off out!"

"All of you?" Sherlock turned to face her.

"Impossible suicides? _Four_ of them? There's no point sitting at home when there's finally something fun going on!" He kissed her cheek.

"Look at you, all happy. It's not decent." Mrs. Hudson attempted to sound angry, but her smile gave her away.

"Who cares about decent? The game, Mrs Hudson, is on!" He sprinted out into the cold. I lingered in the door frame, briefly staring at him. _He really is different, huh?_

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"Okay, you've got questions." Sherlock said, breaking the silence that had filled the taxi. Usually I would have been chatting away, but something didn't quite feel right about it.

"Yeah, where are we going?"

"Crime scene. Next?"

"Who are you? And why do the police let you in and not me?" I asked. John gave me a questioning look, but I ignored it.

"What do you think?"

"I'd say private detective ..."

"But?"

"but the police don't go to private detectives."

"I'm a consulting detective. Only one in the world. I invented the job." He smiled smugly.

"Interesting. I never thought of inventing my own job before!" And that's saying something, considering all I ever did was sit around and think crazy thoughts.

"What does that mean?"

"It means when the police are out of their depth, which is always, they consult me."

"The police don't consult amateurs!" Sherlock threw him a look.

"When I met you for the first time yesterday, I said, 'Afghanistan or Iraq?' You looked surprised."

"Yes, how did you know?"

"I didn't know, I saw. Your haircut, the way you hold yourself says military. But your conversation as you entered the room said trained at Bart's, so Army doctor – obvious. Your face is tanned but no tan above the wrists. You've been abroad, but not sunbathing. Your limp's really bad when you walk but you don't ask for a chair when you stand, like you've forgotten about it, so it's at least partly psychosomatic. That says the original circumstances of the injury were traumatic. Wounded in action, then. Wounded in action, suntan – Afghanistan or Iraq." John paused before saying,

"You said I had a therapist."

"You've got a psychosomatic limp – of course you've got a therapist. Then there's your brother. Your phone. It's expensive, e-mail enabled, MP3 player, but you're looking for a flat share – you wouldn't waste money on this. It's a gift, then." John handed his phone over and allowed Sherlock to continue, "Scratches. Not one, many over time. It's been in the same pocket as keys and coins. The man sitting next to me wouldn't treat his one luxury item like this, so it's had a previous owner. Next bit's easy. You know it already." Sherlock looked up at me.

"The engraving!" My eyes widened in realization.

"Harry Watson: clearly a family member who's given you his old phone. Not your father, this is a young man's gadget. Could be a cousin, but you're a war hero who can't find a place to live. Unlikely you've got an extended family, certainly not one you're close to, so brother it is. Now, Clara. Who's Clara? Three kisses says it's a romantic attachment. The expense of the phone says wife, not girlfriend. She must have given it to him recently – this model's only six months old. Marriage in trouble then – six months on he's just given it away. If she'd left him, he would have kept it. People do – sentiment. But no, he wanted rid of it. He left her. He gave the phone to you: that says he wants you to stay in touch. You're looking for cheap accommodation, but you're not going to your brother for help: that says you've got problems with him. Maybe you liked his wife; maybe you don't like his drinking."

"How can you possibly know about the drinking?" Sherlock smiled.

"Shot in the dark. Good one, though. Power connection: tiny little scuff marks around the edge of it. Every night he goes to plug it in to charge but his hands are shaking. You never see those marks on a sober man's phone; never see a drunk's without them."

"There you go, you see – you were right."

"I was right? Right about what?"

"The police don't consult amateurs." Sherlock awaited a reaction just like he did with me. I wouldn't of been surprised if John punched him in the face, but he did instead made me smile.

"That ... was amazing." There was a long pause.

"Do you think so?"

"Of course it was. It was extraordinary; it was quite extraordinary." I could tell I was going to like John.

"That's not what people normally say."

"What do people normally say?"

"'Piss off'!" They both grinned and I laughed. _Yeah. Definitely gonna like these two._

"Did I get anything wrong?" Sherlock said as we headed towards the crime scene. John paused,

"Harry and me don't get on, never have. Clara and Harry split up three months ago and they're getting a divorce; and Harry is a drinker." Sherlock looked impressed with himself.

"Spot on, then. I didn't expect to be right about everything."

"And Harry's short for Harriet." Sherlock stopped.

"Harry's your sister..."

"Look, what exactly am I supposed to be doing here?"

"Sister!" Sherlock hissed.

"No, seriously, what am I doing here?"

"You're a doctor, John." I decided to answer for Sherlock, who was currently complaining about there always being something wrong, "You may have some very useful skills we can use later on." John seemed to accept my answer and nodded.

"Right.." We approached the police tape. I gave it a quick glare, but smiled, immediately remembering I had_ permission_ now.

"Hello, freak." I frowned at Donovan before realizing she was talking to Sherlock. _Does he have to deal with her too?_

"I'm here to see Detective Inspector Lestrade." Sherlock explained.

"Why?"

"I was invited."

"_Why_?"

"I think he wants me to take a look." I smiled. Sherlock was saying everything I wanted to say but never had the guts to.

"Well, you know what I think, don't you?"

"Always, Sally." He went under the tape and inhaled sharply. "I even know you didn't make it home last night."

"I don't ... " Donovan looked at me. "Lucy, I told you you're not allowed in here!" I cringed at the harshness of her tone.

"She's with me." Sherlock spoke up. I smiled and nodded at Donovan, feeling quite triumphant.

"You're kidding?! Of course! I should 'ave seen it comin'." She rolled her eyes.

"Thank you!" I ducked under the tape. I turned and smirked at the yellow barrier; _Oh, would you look at that. I've managed to cross you once again. Better get used to that._

"And who's this?" Poor John stood there, unsure of what to say.

"Colleague of mine, Doctor Watson. Doctor Watson, Sergeant Sally Donovan. Old_ friend_."

"A colleague? How do you get a colleague?!" She looked at John, "What, did he follow you home?"

"Would it be better if I just waited and ..."

"No." Sherlock lifted the tape for John.

"C'mon John!" He smiled at me and went under. "Doesn't that feel great?"

"What?"

"Crossing the police tape! Isn't it wonderful?!" I smiled. John chuckled and pretended to know what I was talking about.

"Freak's here. Bringing him in." We followed Donovan towards the house. As we neared the door, Anderson came out.

"Ah, Anderson. Here we are again." Anderson grimaced, then looked at me.

"What are _you_ doing here?" I smiled.

"Don't worry, I've got permission this time." He narrowed his eyes in confusion.

"Look, it's a crime scene. I don't want it contaminated. Are we clear on that?" I nodded my head politely as Sherlock took a deep breath through his nose.

"Quite clear. And is your wife away for long?" I smiled._ Oh, I've been waiting for this_. My subconscious spoke. _Don't be rude, me!_

"Oh, don't pretend you worked that out. Somebody told you that."

"Your deodorant told me that."

"My deodorant?"

"It's for men."

"Well, of course it's for men! I'm wearing it!"

"So's Sergeant Donovan." Anderson gave a nervous look at Donovan.

"Ooh, and I think it just vaporized. May I go in?" I tried to stifle my giggles with my hand.

"Now look: whatever you're trying to imply..."

"I'm not implying anything." Sherlock looked at Donovan pointedly, "I'm sure Sally came round for a nice little chat, and just happened to stay over. And I assume she scrubbed your floors, going by the state of her knees." He smiled, much to their horror and my delight. He headed into the house, me and John close behind. We walked into a room where Lestrade was currently putting on a strange blue suit that was supposed to keep you from contaminating anything.

"You need to wear one of these." Sherlock said to John and I, notifying Lestrade of our presence.

"Lucy!?" I waved at Lestrade. "And who's this?!"

"They're with me."

" Okay, I understand why you brought Lucy, but who is _he_?"

"I said he's with me." Sherlock picked up some latex gloves while John began putting on the coverall. Seeing how no one was really paying attention, I took the opportunity to slip away. I ran up the stairs, pardoning myself to the police officers that we're chatting on the stairs. I looked into each room briefly before finally finding the one with the body. _Oooh..._

I stepped cautiously into the room, walking over to the dead woman and bending over her. I slipped on a pair of the latex gloves before giving the body a poke. Then another poke. And another.

"LUCY!" I jumped at Lestrades voice.

"All I did was poke it! And look! I'm wearing gloves! See? Gloves!" I held up my hands for him to see, making him sigh.

"Jesus Lucy, I take my eye off of you for one second..." He trailed off. "I can give you two minutes."

"May need longer." Lestrade rolled his eyes.

"Her name's Jennifer Wilson according to her credit cards. We're running them now for contact details. Hasn't been here long. Some kids found her."

"Those lucky children..." I muttered, earning a look from Lestrade. Sherlock stepped a bit closer to the body, looking it over. We stood there in silence.

"Shut up."

"I didn't say anything!" Lestrade defended.

"You were thinking. It's annoying." Lestrade and John shared a look as a laughed, covering my mouth so that the people outside couldn't hear. I watched Sherlock begin to examine the body, wondering what in the world must be going through that brilliant head of his. After a few moments he gave a satisfied smile.

"Well?" I asked excitedly.

"Got anything?"

"Not much." He pulled out his phone and began typing something as Anderson walked into the door frame.

"She's German. 'Rache': it's German for 'revenge'. She could be trying to tell us something-"

"Yes, thank you for your input." Sherlock slammed the door in his face. I thought about checking on Anderson, but instead just laughed. I was certainly enjoying this.

"So she's German?"

"Of course she's not. She's from out of town, though. Intended to stay in London for one night before returning home to Cardiff. So far, so obvious."

"Sorry – obvious?" John looked at him as I tried to see what he saw.

"What about the message, though?" Sherlock ignored him.

"What do you think?"

"Of the message?" John looked confused.

"He's talking about the body. You're a doctor, remember?" John smiled at me.

"Wait, no, we have a whole team right outside-"

"They won't work with me."

"I'm breaking every rule letting you in here-"

"Yes, because you need me." Lestrade paused.

"Yes, I do. God help me..."

"Doctor Watson." Sherlock urged him to examine the body. He looked to Lestrade for permission.

"Oh, do as he says. Help yourself." He then opened the door, "Anderson, keep everyone out for a couple of minutes!"

"Well?" They lowered their voices to a point where I could no longer hear them. I sighed at their secrecy.

"Fun?! There's a woman lying dead!" I finally managed to hear.

"Perfectly sound analysis, but I was hoping you'd go deeper." I watched as John began to examine the body himself.

"Yeah ... Asphyxiation, probably. Passed out, choked on her own vomit. Can't smell any alcohol on her. It could have been a seizure; possibly drugs."

"You know what it was. You've read the papers."

"What, she's one of the suicides?"

"The_ fourth._" I smiled.

"Sherlock – two minutes, I said. I need anything you've got." Lestrade said.

"Victim is in her late thirties. Professional person, going by her clothes; I'm guessing something in the media, going by the frankly alarming shade of pink. Traveled from Cardiff today, intending to stay in London for one night. It's obvious from the size of her suitcase."

"Suitcase?" I asked, looking around for the aforementioned case.

"Suitcase, yes. She's been married at least ten years, but not happily. She's had a string of lovers but none of them knew she was married."

"Oh, for God's sake, if you're just making this up!-" Sherlock pointed at her hand.

"Her wedding ring. Ten years old at least. The rest of her jewelry has been regularly cleaned, but not her wedding ring. State of her marriage right there. The inside of the ring is shinier than the outside – that means it's regularly removed. The only polishing it gets is when she works it off her finger. It's not for work; look at her nails. She doesn't work with her hands, so what or rather who does she remove her rings for? Clearly not one lover; she'd never sustain the fiction of being single over that amount of time, so more likely a string of them. Simple."

"Now that is brilliant!" I said. Sherlock looked at me, but I just tilted my head to say, 'Well it was'.

"Cardiff?" Lestrade brought us back on topic.

"It's obvious, isn't it?"

"It's not obvious to me." John spoke up. Sherlock looked at us,

"Dear God, what is it like in your funny little brains? It must be so boring!"

"You'd be surprised." Sherlock ignored me.

"Her coat: it's slightly damp. She's been in heavy rain in the last few hours. No rain anywhere in London in that time. Under her coat collar is damp, too. She's turned it up against the wind. She's got an umbrella in her left-hand pocket but it's dry and unused: not just wind, strong wind – too strong to use her umbrella. We know from her suitcase that she was intending to stay overnight, so she must have come a decent distance but she can't have traveled more than two or three hours because her coat still hasn't dried. So, where has there been heavy rain and strong wind within the radius of that travel time?" He showed us his phone, "Cardiff."

"That's fantastic!" John said in awe.

"You both realize you do that out loud?"

"Sorry. I'll shut up."

"No, it's ... fine." I smiled at the detectives secret craving for praise. Then I realized something funny.

"Why do you keep saying suitcase?" Sherlock began to look around the room,

"Yes, where is it? She must have had a phone or an organizer. Find out who Rachel is."

"She was writing 'Rachel'?" Lestrade asked.

"No, she was leaving an angry note in German. Of course she was writing Rachel; no other word it can be. Question is: why did she wait until she was dying to write it?"

"How do you know she had a suitcase?" I spoke up again.

"Back of the right leg: tiny splash marks on the heel and calf, not present on the left. She was dragging a wheeled suitcase behind her with her right hand. Don't get that splash pattern any other way. Smallish case, going by the spread. Case that size, woman this clothes-conscious: could only be an overnight bag, so we know she was staying one night. Now, where is it? What have you done with it?" Lestrade looked confused.

"There wasn't a case." Sherlock slowly raised his head and looked at Lestrade.

"Say that again."

"There wasn't a case. There was never any suitcase." Sherlock ran out of the door and began yelling at the officers if anyone found a suitcase. We all followed him, watching his frantic figure scurry down the stairs.

"Sherlock, there was no case!"

"But they take the poison themselves; they chew, swallow the pills themselves. There are clear signs, even you lot couldn't miss them."

"Right, yeah, thanks. And ...?"

"It's murder, all of them. I don't know how, but they're not suicides, they're killings – serial killings."

"I_ knew_ it!" I cheered.

"We've got ourselves a serial killer. I love those. There's always something to look forward to."

"Why are you saying that?"

"Her case! Come on, where is her case? Did she eat it? Someone else was here, and they took her case. So the killer must have driven her here; forgot the case was in the car..."

"She could have checked into a hotel, left her case there!" John called down.

"No, she never got to the hotel. Look at her hair. She color-coordinates her lipstick and her shoes. She'd never have left any hotel with her hair still looking like... Oh... _Oh_!" Sherlock clapped his hands together with an expression of pure delight.

"Sherlock?" John said.

"What? What is it?" I called down. I wanna know!

"Serial killers are always hard. You have to wait for them to make a mistake..."

"We can't just wait!" Lestrade argued.

"Oh, we're done waiting! Look at her, really look! Houston, we have a mistake! Get on to Cardiff: find out who Jennifer Wilson's family and friends were. Find Rachel!" He disappeared from our view.

"But what was the mistake?!" I called after him. Sherlock came back for a brief second just to yell "PINK!" then run off. John and I looked at each other briefly before heading outside.

"He's gone." Donovan informed us.

"Who, Sherlock Holmes?"

"Yeah, he just took off. He does that."

"Is he coming back?"

"Didn't look like it." I frowned.

"Right. Right...yes. Sorry, where are we?"

"Brixton."

"Right. Er, d'you know where I could get a cab? It's just, er...well... my leg." Donovan looked at him with bit of sympathy before holding up the tape for us.

"Try the main road."

"Thanks!" I smiled and ducked under the tape.

"But you're not his friend." I turned towards her.

"Aren't I?

"He doesn't have friends. So who are you?" She directed the question towards John.

"I'm ... I'm nobody. I just met him."

"Okay, bit of advice then: stay away from that guy."

"Why?" I said a bit defensively.

"You know why he's here? He's not paid or anything. He likes it. He gets off on it. The weirder the crime, the more he gets off. And you know what? One day just showing up won't be enough. One day we'll be standing round a body and Sherlock Holmes'll be the one that put it there."

"Why would he do that?"

"That's the difference between you and him. He's a psychopath. And psychopaths get bored." She began to leave, "Stay away from Sherlock Holmes."

_

**Woot! Chapter 1 is DONE! Tell me what you thought in the reviews please!**


	3. Why Don't People Think?

**Sorry I haven't updated in a while. I've been super busy. And lazy. Remember to review! And tell your friends! Thanks to everyone who's already reviewed! You're the best!**

The trip home was quite a fun walk indeed. At least for me it was. John and I had decided to walk home seeing as all the cabs were apparently busy, and quite frankly I enjoyed the opportunity to chat with John.

"So how did that happen?" I looked down at his leg. At first he seemed confused by what I was referring to, but his face grew solemn as he too looked down.

"Afghanistan."

"I see..." I put my arms behind my back and bent down slightly to get a better look, "What was it like there?"

"Uh...hot?" I laughed, and John gave a small chuckle at his own response.

"I would imagine..." I stared at him thoughtfully. "What do you think of children?" John paused gave a confused look.

"Um, I suppose they're alright? I-I mean, I don't, uh... I don't have any children of my own-"

"I used to love children. Still like some of them, but nowadays, kids just seem to be aging much to quickly."

"How so?" John tried to sound interested. Most everyone I ever talked to did the same; just pretended to care. I think that's what drew me to Sherlock. I knew he sometimes didn't respond, but I could tell he was thinking every time I said something. Questioning me. Actually _thinking_. Every sentence spoken was analyzed in that brain of his, and even the things he rendered pointless were carefully stored somewhere. He was different. _ It's so hard to find someone who really cares about what you have to say..._I knew John thought I was just rambling, and perhaps I was, but I decided to continue.

"Well, most children now are so...scary. All of their conversations revolve around drugs and sex, and that's when they're talking to each other at all! Most of the times they just sit on their phones and not even say a word! And sometimes, they even _kill_ each other! Isn't that just awful?" I shook my head sadly; spinning to look back at John, who was struggling to keep up with my brisk pace.

"Absolutely horrible." He agreed.

"My uncle says that it wasn't always like this." I began to move my feet in slow swirls as we walked. "He says that back in his day, children used their _imaginations_! Now it's absolutely unheard of. Sometimes I wonder if they ever look up from their phones! I wonder if they know that there's dew on the grass every morning, or that there's a man in the moon."

"You sure do a lot of thinking." I smiled to myself.

"Yes. One of the many benefits of being a jobless slob: plenty of time for crazy thoughts." Just then, we heard a phone to our left in a restaurant. John paused to look at it, so I stopped too. "John?"

"Hm? Coming." He looked back to me and I glanced between him and the phone._ What was that about?_ I recalled all the phones that had rung on our walk home. My thoughts were interrupted by another ring that sent chills down my spine. I raised my eyebrows at John, who in return gave me an equally concerned look. We slowly walked towards the phone booth, and John hesitantly answered,

"Hello?" I couldn't hear what the other man said, but whatever it was, it made John frown.

"Who's this? Who's speaking?" Another pause. John looked through the phone booth, and I followed his gaze to a camera on a nearby building. "Yeah, I see it." I watched as the camera turned away from us.

"John?" I asked but John was busy looking at another camera, which also began to turn. Soon enough the third and final camera was also faced away, and I could feel myself tense slightly as a black car began to pull up to the curb.

"How are you doing this?" John asked sternly, but now saw the car and put down the phone. We looked at each other for a while, both unsure of what to make of the situation. I shrugged, and decided to enter the car door which was held open so politely by the driver. _I can't just say no, now can I?_ John followed after me, sitting on the other side before sharing a look with me.

"Sooo..." I looked to the young woman next to me, who was currently typing in her phone, obviously not wanting to make any sort of social effort. I had to keep myself from laughing at the perfect irony.

"Hello." John spoke up. The girl looked at both of us with a bright smile and said a quick 'Hi' before looking back to her phone, still intent on ignoring us. "What's your name, then?"

"Um...Anthea." She decided.

"Is that your real name?" She looked at me and smiled,

"No." John nodded before looking out the windows.

"I'm Lucy." I decided using my real name wouldn't hurt. "And this is John."

"Yes. I know." She smiled knowingly at her phone.

"Any point in asking where we're going?"

"None at all." She smiled at us briefly.

"Okey-dokey."

After a while of me trying to get John and Not-Anthea to play I-spy with me, the car pulled into some sort of warehouse. I quickly spotted a suited man in the middle of said warehouse, who watched us intently as he leaned on his black umbrella ever-so-mysteriously. In front of the man were two chairs which he pointed at with his umbrella,

"Have a seat, John. Lucy." I followed behind John, who was currently hobbling towards him.

"You know, I've got a phone." I couldn't help but smile at Johns calmness in the face of the uncertain, "I mean, very clever and all that, but er...you could just phone me. On my phone."

"When one is avoiding the attention of Sherlock Holmes, one learns to be discreet, hence this place. The leg must be hurting you. Sit down." I smiled and graciously sat in one of the chairs.

"I don't wanna sit down." I looked at John. _Crud. Probably wasn't supposed to sit down._ I awkwardly stood back up, brushing down my dress, and attempted to mimic Johns stubborn expression while crossing my arms. The man looked at us both curiously.

"You don't seem very afraid."

"You don't seem very frightening."

"Ah, yes. The bravery of the soldier. Bravery is by far the kindest word for stupidity, don't you think?" He gave John a stern look. "What is your connection to Sherlock Holmes?"

"I don't have one. I barely know him. I met him...yesterday."

"Me too." The man looked at me up and down. "Of course I didn't really know it was him. He was disguised as a police man." I smiled at the thought of our first meeting.

"Mmm, and since yesterday _you've_ moved in with him," he looked at John, "and now you're solving crimes together. Might we expect a happy announcement by the end of the week?"

"Who are you?"

"An interested party."

"Oh?" I mused, "are you one of Sherlocks friends then?"

"You've met him. How many 'friends' do you imagine he has?" I frowned, uncomfortable with this man bad-mouthing my new...acquaintance? "I am the closest thing to a friend that Sherlock Holmes is capable of having."

"And what's that?"

"An enemy."

"An enemy?"

"In his mind, certainly. If you were to ask him, he'd probably say his arch-enemy. He does love to be dramatic."

"Well, sounds like you both have something in common." I giggled, earning a stern look from the man. I watched as Johns fished his phone out of his pocket. My thoughts began to trail elsewhere. Particularly my stomach.

"Do you have any snacks?" The man furrowed his brow, completely dismissing my question. _Well, I suppose that's a no._ My stomach growled.

"I hope I'm not distracting you."

"Not distracting me at all." John pocketed the phone.

"Do you both plan to continue your association with Sherlock Holmes?"

"I could be wrong ... but I think that's none of your business." I decided to let John answer, seeing as he was obviously more in-control.

"It could be." The man said ominously.

"It really couldn't." I stood a little straighter, feeling Johns confidence rub off on me, and gave a little nod and smile. The man took out a small note book and read one of the pages as he spoke,

"If you do move into..." He looked at the page closer, "two hundred and twenty-one B Baker Street, I'd be happy to pay you a meaningful sum of money on a regular basis to ease your way."

"Why?"

"Because you're not a wealthy man."

"In exchange for what?" This time I spoke up. I really didn't like the way this conversation was going. I know I just met him and all, but I certainly wasn't keen on breaking the trust of the man I'd just grown fond of.

"Information. Nothing indiscreet. Nothing you'd feel...uncomfortable with. Just tell me what he's up to."

"Why?"

"I worry about him. Constantly."

"That's nice of you." John said insincerely.

"But I would prefer for various reasons that my concern go unmentioned. We have what you might call a ... difficult relationship."

"Oh. I'm sorry to hear that." I said as John checked his phone a second time. "Still, it's a no from me. John?"

"No."

"But I haven't mentioned a figure."

"Don't bother."

"You're both very loyal, very quickly."

"No, we're not. Just not interested."

"'Trust issues,' it says here." The man pulled out his handy-dandy notebook again, causing Johns rock hard exterior to crack. I felt my breathing begin to shallow. _I need to get John out of here._

"What's that?"

"Could it be that you've decided to trust Sherlock Holmes of all people?"

"Who says I trust him?"

"You don't seem the kind to make friends easily."

"John, I think we should go." I grabbed his arm, but John continued to look at the man. "John!"

"Yeah..." He turned finally and began walking away.

"It was a pleasure meeting you!" I gave a little curtsy to the strangely frightening man. We were almost to the car when the man spoke again,

"I imagine people have already warned you to stay away from him, but I can see from your left hand that's not going to happen." John stopped.

"John?" I put my hand on his shoulder gently, looking between the two. He turned back and faced the man.

"My what?"

"Show me." I watched as John extended his hand. The man walked towards him, causing John to pull his hand back a little.

"Don't-" Johns voice was silenced by one look from the man, and he reluctantly put his hand back.

"Remarkable." John snatched his hand away,

"What is?" The man turned away.

"Most people blunder round this city, and all they see are streets and shops and cars. When you walk with Sherlock Holmes, you see the battlefield. You've seen it already, haven't you?"

"What's wrong with my hand?"

"You have an intermittent tremor in your left hand." I looked at Johns hand. "Your therapist thinks it's post-traumatic stress disorder. She thinks you're haunted by memories of your military service."

"Who the hell are you? How do you know that?" I could see Johns rage build up. I felt bad for him, but wasn't quite sure what to say, so i watched in silence.

"Fire her. She's got it the wrong way round. You're under stress right now and your hand is perfectly steady." The mans voice lowered, "You're not haunted by the war, Doctor Watson ... you _miss_ it. Welcome back." The man began walking away and spinning his umbrella. I watched the scene in awe, unsure of what in the world had just happened. "Time to choose a side."

I looked at John, walking towards him slowly.

"I'm to take you home." I looked back at "Anthea" and smiled. John looked at his phone again, and I couldn't help but look to see who it was from. It read:

Could be dangerous.  
SH

"What could be dangerous?" I asked, but John didn't reply._ I'm getting sick and tired of all this ignoring me!_ I pouted childishly to myself.

"Address?" Anthea spoke again.

"Er, Baker Street. Two two one B Baker Street. But I need to stop off somewhere first."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Soon we found ourselves back at Baker Street. I decided to follow John into his flat, not wanting to be alone after that oddly frightening ordeal. We soon found Sherlock on the couch, sleeves rolled up and eyes closed. His eyes snapped open as he let out a long sigh, leading me to question what in the world he was on.

"What are you doing?" I made my way towards him, watching him curiously as his right hand extended.

"Nicotine patch. Helps me think. Impossible to sustain a smoking habit in London these days. Bad news for brain work."

"Oh. I see." I touched one of the patches gingerly and hummed. Sherlock gave me a look.

I promptly ignored said look.

He quickly removed his hand from my touch. _Doesn't like physical touching: noted._ John walked across the room, looking at the two o us with slight interest.

"It's good news for breathing."

"Oh, breathing. Breathing's boring."

"Is that three patches?"

"It's a three-patch problem." Sherlock rested his hands under his chin. John looked around the room before looking down at Sherlock expectantly.

"Well? You asked me to come. I'm assuming it's important." Sherlock sat there in silence before his eyes opened again.

"Oh, yeah, of course. Can I borrow your phone?" I let out a laugh, but John did not seem as amused as I was.

"My phone?"

"Don't wanna use mine. Always a chance that the number will be recognized. It's on the website."

"Mrs Hudson's got a phone."

"Yeah, she's downstairs. I tried shouting but she didn't hear."

"Wow. I certainly didn't peg you as lazy." I laughed harder, picturing the scene of him yelling from the couch.

"I was the other side of London!"

"There was no hurry." John glared at him, but took his phone out anyway; handing It over to the lazy-bone-detective. "Here." Sherlock took the phone between his hands.

"So what could be dangerous? Is this about the case?" I sat down, hugging a pillow to my chest and crossing my legs.

"Her case." Sherlocks voice spoke thoughtfully.

"Her case?"

"Her suitcase, yes, obviously. The murderer took her suitcase. First big mistake."

"Okay, he took her case. How does that help us?"

"It's no use, there's no other way. We'll have to risk it." He spoke to himself before extending the phone towards John, "On my desk there's a number. I want you to send a text."

"You brought me here to send a text?" John said in angry disbelief.

"Text, yes. The number on my desk." John snatched the phone and made his way to the window. He looked down to the street, obviously thinking of our encounter with the mysterious umbrella man.

"Don't worry John. I don't think he'll come here." I comforted, getting Sherlocks attention.

"What's wrong?"

"Just met a friend of yours."

"A friend?" Sherlocks eyes widened in alarm.

"An enemy." John explained.

"Oh." Sherlocks face calmed immediately, "Which one?"

"Your arch-enemy, according to him." He turned towards Sherlock. I added a little _dun-dun-DUUUUNNN_ playing a fake piano in front of me dramatically. "Do people have arch-enemies?"

"Did he offer you money to spy on me?"

"Yes."

"Did you take it?"

"No."

"Pity. We could have split the fee. Think it through next time." Sherlock scolded.

"Who is he?" I sat up curiously.

"The most dangerous man you've ever met, and not my problem right now. On my desk, the number." John walked over to the desk and found the slip of paper.

"Jennifer Wilson," John read aloud, "That was...Hang on. Wasn't that the dead woman?"

"Yes. That's not important. Just enter the number." John looked at me, so I shrugged. Might as well do what he says and see what happens.

"Are you doing it?"

"Yes."

"Have you done it?"

"Ye- hang on!" Sherlock didn't wait.

"These words exactly: 'What happened at Lauriston Gardens? I must have blacked out. Twenty-two Northumberland Street. Please come.'"

"You blacked out?" John asked.

"What? No. No!" Sherlock sprang up and walked over the coffee table, much to my amusement, and made his way into the kitchen. "Type and send it. Quickly." He plopped down a pink suitcase across from him. I curiously made my way over to him, bending down so that I was eye-level with the case.

"Have you sent it?"

"What's the address?"

"Twenty-two Northumberland Street. Hurry up!" Sherlock said impatiently.

"What's in here?" I asked. Sherlock unzipped the case and flipped open the lid, revealing some women's clothes and overnight things. I picked up the book, thumbing through it blankly as John finished typing the message. _Pink..._ I finally understood what the criminal did wrong.

"That's...that's the pink lady's case. That's Jennifer Wilson's case." I rolled my eyes.

"Obviously!" I plopped the book back into the suitcase. John continued to stare at Sherlock.

"Oh, perhaps I should mention I didn't kill her." He said sarcastically.

"I never said you did."

"Why not? Given the text I just had you send and the fact I that have her case, it's a perfectly logical assumption."

"Do people usually assume you're the murderer?" He smirked at me.

"Now and then, yes." John dropped himself into the chair, looking quite tired. I, however, was filled to the brim with excited curiosity.

"How did you find it?"

"By looking."

"Where was it?"

"The killer must have driven her to Lauriston Gardens. He could only keep her case by accident if it was in the car. Nobody could be seen with this case without drawing attention – particularly a man, which is statistically more likely – so obviously he'd feel compelled to get rid of it the moment he noticed he still had it. Wouldn't have taken him more than five minutes to realise his mistake. I checked every back street wide enough for a car five minutes from Lauriston Gardens and anywhere you could dispose of a bulky object without being observed. Took me less than an hour to find the right skip."

"Wow. You got all that from pink?"

"Well, it had to be pink, obviously."

"Huh." I leaned back. "Well, that makes since." I pieced everything together in my mind. _This man simply proves my theory that the human brain has so much possibility._

"Why didn't I think of that?" John said to himself.

"Because you're an idiot." I laughed at Sherlocks blunt statement. John looked startled, then offended. "No, no, no, don't be like that. Practically everyone is."

"Wait a sec...do you think I'm an idiot?" I asked, but was ignored.

"Now, look. Do you see what's missing?" He continued. I looked through the contents as John spoke,

"From the case? How could I?"

"Her phone!" I shot up in realization. Sherlock smiled at me briefly,

"Exactly. There was no phone on the body, there's no phone in the case. We know she had one – that's her number there; you just texted it."

"Maybe she left it at home." John said, obviously jealous that I had come up with the correct answer and not him.

"She has a string of lovers and she's careful about it. She never leaves her phone at home."

"Why did I just send that text?" He looked down at his phone then back at Sherlock.

"Well, the question is: where is her phone now?"

"She could have lost it."

"Yes, or ...?"

"The murderer has it." I smiled to myself. This was certainly getting interesting.

"Excellent deduction Lucy. Perhaps you aren't an idiot."

"Hey!" I said, attempting to look offended by his questioning of my intelligence, but my smile gave me away.

"Maybe she left it when she left her case. Maybe he took it from her for some reason. Either way, the balance of probability is the murderer has her phone."

"Sorry, what are we doing? Did I just text a murderer?! What good will that do?" As if on cue, his phone began to ring. He picked it up, then looked at Sherlock for an answer.

"A few hours after his last victim, and now he receives a text that can only be from her. If somebody had just found that phone they'd ignore a text like that, but the murderer would panic." He flipped the case closed before getting up.

"Wonderful!" I sprang up. "Have you told Lestrade?"

"Four people are dead. There isn't time to talk to the police."

"But you've been talking to John and I." Sherlock looked sadly at the mantel piece.

"Mrs Hudson took my skull." He pouted.

"So we're basically filling in for your skull?" John said offended.

"Relax, you're doing fine." Sherlock began putting on his jacket.

"Marvelous! I can't believe I'm solving a murder!" I clapped my hands together in excitement, bouncing from heel to toe.

"Well, more or less, I suppose you've helped." He paused and looked towards John, who sat unmoving. "Well?"

"Well what?"

"Well, you could just sit there and watch telly."

"What, you want me to come with you two?"

"I like company when I go out, and I think better when I talk aloud. The skull just attracts attention, so..."

"Come on John! It'll be fun!" John smiled at me briefly before looking at Sherlock.

"Problem?"

"Yeah, Sergeant Donovan." I felt myself frown immediately at her name.

"What about her?"

"She said ... You get off on this. You _enjoy_ it."

"And I said 'dangerous', and here you are." Sherlock began walking out, I following close behind. I gave John a knowing smile, adding a little wink as I headed down the stairs.

_

**Ugh. So tired. Sorry this chapter is so short, but I promise the next chapter will be posted really soon! Maybe even tomorrow. Please review!**


	4. Not His Date

**Oh my goodness, just watched Sherlock season 3 finale! No spoilers, of course, but I will say that it broke my feels. Anyway, please review! Especially this chapter, cause I did a little "experiment" if you will. Enjoy!**

"So, where to mr. detective?"

"Northumberland Street's a five-minute walk from here."

"You think he's stupid enough to go there?"  
Sherlock smiled.  
"No – I think he's brilliant enough." We headed down the cold streets of London at an exhilarated pace; I completely consumed with adrenaline that I had now become so addicted to that I was solving murders with two practical strangers. "I love the brilliant ones. They're always so desperate to get caught."

"Why?" John had caught up to us shortly after we had left the flat, obviously just as much of an addict as I was.

"Appreciation! Applause! At long last the spotlight. That's the frailty of genius, John: it needs an audience."

"Of course. I'm sure _you_ wouldn't stoop to such levels though, right?" Sarcasm practically oozed from my tongue. Sherlock ignored my comment and continued his thought,

"This is his hunting ground, right here in the heart of the city. Now that we know his victims were abducted, that changes everything. Because all of his victims disappeared from busy streets, crowded places, but nobody saw them go."

"Okay, so who does that single out? Who wouldn't we notice?" I asked, looking at everyone as we passed, trying desperately to cling to every detail of every person like Sherlock did, but if you asked me what color shoes the woman we just passed were, I would falter indefinitely. His mind process was on a whole other level. A whole other category that I had yet to reach. It wouldn't stop me from trying, though.

"See, _that_ is the question." I watched his eyes move around every corner in sight; taking in and absorbing everything. His hands moved to either side of his head in an attempt to focus his thoughts and search the brain for something that could be of use.

"Think! Who do we trust, even though we don't know them? Who passes unnoticed wherever they go? Who hunts in the middle of a crowd?"

"Dunno. Who?" Sherlock paused before shrugging,

"Haven't the faintest. Hungry?" He quickly swerved into a small Italian restaurant. John and I followed, and after taking a long slow inhale, I found my mouth watering. _I haven't eaten all day._ I realized in the form of a low stomach growl.  
When we entered, the waiter at the door gestured to a lovely table next to the front window.

"Thank you, Billy." Sherlock addressed the man before taking his coat off and situating himself where he would have the best view of the outside. I gave a curt nod to Billy before sitting next to John, who had occupied the bench seat facing away from the window. Billy gave a small, and if I do say so myself, flirtatious smile before removing the reserved table sign and hurrying off to alert the owner of our arrival.

"Twenty-two Northumberland Street. Keep your eyes on it."

"He isn't just gonna ring the doorbell, though, is he? He'd need to be mad." John took off his coat and tucked it behind him, resting his cane on the wall to the side of me.

"He has killed four people."

"Not all murderers are mad though." I argued. Sherlock looked at me up and down, analyzing my response. I waited for him to tell me I was a nut, but when he said nothing I decided he was allowing me to justify my thought.

"With the right motivation, almost anyone could become a killer. Ever heard of the Milgram experiment?"

"July 1961, three months after the start of the trial of German Nazi war criminal Adolf Eichmann in Jerusalem. Stanley Milgram devised a psychological experiment in which the subject and a confederate pretending to be a volunteer are told that they are helping with a learning exercise. They strap the confederate up to a fake shock machine in a separate room which the subject believes is real. The scientist then provides the subject with a series of questions to ask the confederate, and if they're incorrect, the subject must give the man a shock. Every time the man answers a question wrong, the voltage increases. The machine went up to 450 volts." Sherlock answered simply.

"450? That's lethal!" John vocalized his astonishment.

"65 percent willingly administered the 450 volts." John looked surprised at my remark.

"The subjects were urged by the scientist telling them that it was for the greater good, coaxing them to deliver the lethal shocks despite the desperate screams heard from the other side of the wall." Sherlock explained to John, "Of course none of the screams were real. Just pre-recorded messages."

"The subjects didn't know that though, leading Milgram to conclude that most people will do monstrous things under authority." I finished my thought. Sherlock seemed to weigh the possibility in his mind as the owner made his way over to us.

"Sherlock!" They shook hands, "Anything on the menu, whatever you want, free. On the house, for you and for your date." John looked quite amused by my confused expression. Sherlock, however, ignored it.

"Do you want to eat?"

"I think he was talking to you." I mouthed discretely to John.

"What? No! He was clearly talking to you." He mouthed back

"He was looking at you..."  
"No, he was clearly-"

"This man got me off a murder charge." Our silent argument was cut off.

"This is Angelo." Angelo shook Johns hand, then mine. "Three years ago I successfully proved to Lestrade at the time of a particularly vicious triple murder that Angelo was in a completely different part of town, house-breaking."

"He cleared my name." Angelo smiled gratefully.

"I cleared it a bit. Anything happening opposite?"

"Nothing. But for this man, I'd have gone to prison."

"You did go to prison."

"I'll get a candle for the table. It's more romantic." Angelo hurried off, leaving John and I to debate who he was referring to.

"See? He was talking to you."  
"No, no, he was obviously talking to you."

"You may as well eat. We might have a long wait." Sherlock said, still looking at the street, ignoring the fact that Angelo had called one of us his date. Angelo then came back with a cute little candle, putting it on the table with a thumbs-up.

"Thank you!" I smiled, at the glass bowl. I wasn't sure how I felt about being called someone's date, but I did like watching the dancing shadows that the small flame produced. It kept the childish, inquisitive side of my mind occupied. John gave a triumphant smile, as if me saying thank you for the candle was a way of admitting I was the date. I rolled my eyes, feeling that arguing would prove useless._ He was still talking to you._ inner me smirked.

Me and John both ordered, chatting about whatever. Sherlock decided not to eat, muttering something about digestion slowing him down, and continued to stare outside; drumming his fingers mindlessly on the table.

"So, Lucy..." John started off awkwardly, "what is it that you - uh, what... what do you..."

"Do?"

"Yeah. What do you, uh, do?" John smiled, picking at his food every so often. I could practically _feel_ the eye roll from Sherlock, who was pretending not to listen to us.

"Well John, I do lots of things. I read, walk, go grocery shopping, dance, write, do laundry, sing, see things, smell things, hear things. Honestly, it'd be easier to ask what I _don't_ do."

"Well what don't you do then?"

"Nothing." I smiled as I looked over to him. John chuckled, making me laugh right along with him. Sherlock gave a short glance over to us, unbeknownst to John. When his eyes met mine, he quickly looked back across the street, leaving me to continue my small talk with John, but still feel bad for leaving Sherlock out.

"Of course, if you asked what I was good at, it would be a whole other story."

"Yes, I'm sure." Johns laugh died down when he noticed me looking at Sherlock every few seconds. I desperately tried to communicate telepathically with Sherlock, in an attempt to get him in the conversation. John didn't seem particularly happy with my interest in Sherlock, but seemed to take my concern for Sherlock's lack of interaction into account. In his own way.

"People don't have arch-enemies." Sherlock took a second to realize John was speaking to him.

"I'm sorry?"

"In real life. There are no arch-enemies in real life. Doesn't happen." Sherlock quickly lost interest in what John was saying and returned to his game of _'Where's Waldo?'_ out the window.

"Doesn't it? Sounds a bit dull."

"So who was the man with the umbrella?" I attempted to re-engage Sherlock into the conversation, all the while attempting to answer the question that was still lingering in my mind. Sherlock avoided my question.

"What do real people have, then, in their 'real lives'?" Sherlock looked at us, giving in to our pestering questions and halfheartedly joined our chit-chat.

"Friends; people they know; people they like; people they don't like... Girlfriends, boyfriends..." John glanced at me briefly when he mentioned the part about boyfriends and girlfriends.

"Yes, well, as I was saying – dull."

"You don't have a girlfriend, then?"

"Girlfriend? No, not really my area." John gave a small vocalization as response, letting silence fill the air once more. I watched as a look of thought creeped onto Johns face, and I just knew what he was thinking. Before I could stop him, John asked the awkward follow up question that would undoubtedly lead to an awkward situation.

"Oh, right. D'you have a boyfriend?" Sherlock looked at him sharply.

_And so it begins._

"Which is fine, by the way."

"I know it's fine."

"So you've got a boyfriend then?"

"No."

"Right. Okay. You're unattached. Like me. Fine... Good." Johns smiled awkwardly, and I tried desperately to keep myself from laughing out loud to make the situation anymore awkward. Sherlock looked at John for a moment before turning his attention back to the window. He seemed to replay Johns statement in his head, however, and turned back to John in an awkward manner.

"John, um ... I think you should know that I consider myself married to my work, and while I'm flattered by your interest, I'm really not looking for any-"

"No - No, I'm not asking - No." Uh oh. I could feel the giggles crawl up my throat. "I'm just saying, it's all fine."

"Good. Thank you." By this time my giggles could not be contained, and came out in a burst comical laughter.

"Oh...oh my god...that was..." John and Sherlock both looked at me as I spoke in between giggles, "That was painful to _watch_! My goodness-"  
"Yeah, i know, shut up."  
"I mean seriously!"  
"Lucy-"  
"And I thought _I_ was bad at talking to people!" John gave a small defeated sigh and waited until my laughter died down.

"Ohh... You know what? Remind me to never let you two speak alone together, alright?" John just nodded, probably too embarrassed to say anything. Sherlock had decided to ignore me, averting his attention back to what was across the street.

"Look across the street. Taxi. Stopped. Nobody getting in, and nobody getting out." John and I followed Sherlock's gaze. There was a man in the back seat of the taxi, looking around as if trying to find someone. "Why a taxi? Oh, that's clever. Is it clever? Why is it clever?"

"That's him?"

"Don't stare."

"You're staring."

"We can't all stare." Sherlock grabbed his coat and scarf and made his way to the door. John and I quickly followed, and I felt the familiar sense of excitement run through me. Once outside, Sherlock and the man seemed to have a small staring contest before the taxi began to drive away. Sherlock immediately ran across the street, ignoring oncoming traffic, and was met by a car screeching to a halt. Sherlock ignored the car and began sprinting after the taxi, leaving John and I to apologize to the driver before running after him. Sherlock's stopped, allowing time for John and I to catch up.

"I've got the cab number."

"Good for you." Sherlock's hands went to the sides of his head again, putting him in a state of concentration. "Right turn, one way, roadworks, traffic lights, bus lane, pedestrian crossing, left turn only, traffic lights..."  
Sherlock raced towards the man and shoved him out of the way before charging into the building.

"Sorry!" I took off my heels quickly and followed him up the stairs.

"Come on, John!" Sherlock called down to the struggling army doctor. Sherlock leapt over the railing onto the next building, ignoring all thoughts of safety. I followed his path closely, deciding to just throw my heels to the side, all while smiling and laughing like a five year old. I didn't hesitate to jump across the death-defying gap to the other building, eliciting a happy yell as my adrenaline increased to dramatically high levels. John, however, halted at the gap.

"Come on, John. We're losing him!" Sherlock gave his own version of encouragement. John nodded at me and braced himself. He gave a swift leap, and successfully landed on the other side. As soon as he did, I turned back around to catch up with Sherlock, continuing the chase. Sherlock lead us down a staircase and through alleyways, John barely managing to keep up.

"Ah, no!" Sherlock watched as the taxi passed the end of the alley, but didn't stop. "This way!" I followed Sherlock to the right, noticing that John had went left after the taxi.

"No, this way!"

"Sorry." John turned back around. We ran down more alley ways and side streets before finally intercepting the cab. Of course when I say intercepting I mean Sherlock threw himself in front of the cab.

Scrabbling in his left coat pocket, Sherlock pulled out an I.D. badge and flashed it at the driver, exhausted.

"Police! Open her up!" He yanked open the door and looked in at the man, who in turn looked anxiously between Sherlock and I. Something apparently went wrong, however, when Sherlock straightened up exasperated.

"No. Teeth, tan: what – Californian? L.A., Santa Monica. Just arrived." He grimaced.

"How can you possibly know that?" John said when he finally caught up.

"The luggage. It's probably your first trip to London, right, going by your final destination and the route the cabbie was taking you?"

"Sorry – are you guys the police?" The man spoke with an American accent.

"Yeah." Sherlock briefly flashed the I.D. Badge once more, "Everything all right?"

"Yeah." Sherlock smiled at the man.

"Welcome to London." Sherlock walked away. John looked in at the passenger, giving some cheesy cop line before awkwardly shutting the door.

"Basically just a cab that happened to slow down."  
"Basically."  
"Not the murderer."  
"Not the murderer, no."  
"Wrong country, good alibi.  
"As they go."

"Hey, where'd you get this?" I grabbed the I.D. and looked at the inside. "Detective Inspector Lestrade?"

"Yeah. I pickpocket him when he's annoying. You can keep that one, I've got plenty at the flat." Sherlock said simply. I smiled before pocketing the I.D. _This could come in handy..._ My thoughts were interrupted by Johns quiet laughter.

"What?"

"Nothing, just: 'Welcome to London'." Sherlock began to chuckle and I smiled at the two.

"Uh oh..." I muttered, looking back at the taxi where a police officer had apparently gone to investigate why the cab had stopped in the middle of the road. The passenger was now pointing at us. Sherlock followed my eyes and looked back to John.

"Got your breath back?"

"Ready when you are."

And with that, we began sprinting back to 221B Baker Street. My new home away from home.

**I feel like another short chapter. I'm sorry I'm so lazy, but I feel like I can update faster this way. Hopefully the next chapter will be longer. Please review!**


	5. Saving Him

**I had today off of school, so I went ahead and wrote a whole chapter! I can't wait for later on. I plan on doing some chapters away from the original storyline of Sherlock, but I'm not sure if I should do it after this episode or after the second episode. Anyway, I like this chapter I think. I at least know I enjoyed writing it. Please review!**

We burst into 221B. Through our heavy breathing, John begins to speak,

"Okay, _that_ was ridiculous." We leaned against the wall; John on one side and Sherlock on my other. "That was the most ridiculous thing I've ever done."

"And you invaded Afghanistan."

John and I began to laugh breathlessly, and even Sherlock joins in.

"That wasn't just me!" We all chuckled for a few more moments, begining to regain our breath.

"Well boys, I have to say, this has most certainly been the most interesting week in a very long time."  
Sherlock chuckles.  
"Why aren't we back at the restaurant?"

"Oh, they can keep an eye out. It was a long shot anyway." Sherlock waved his hand dismissively.

"So what were we doing there?"

Sherlock cleared his throat.  
"Oh, just passing the time. And proving a point."

"What point?"

"You. Mrs Hudson! Doctor Watson will take the room upstairs."

"Yay!" I smiled and wrapped my arms around Johns neck in a brief hug. John smiled at me, then looked back to Sherlock with a peculiar look on his face,

"Says who?"

"Says the man at the door." Three knocks echoed into the hall. John looked at Sherlock with alarm, to which Sherlock just smiled. John slowly went to the door, leaving Sherlock and I to watch as Angelo delivered Johns forgotten cane. I looked at Sherlock with delighted surprise.

"You knew?" Sherlock only grinned. Suddenly, Mrs. Hudson came out of her flat in tears.

"Sherlock, what have you done?"

"Mrs Hudson?"

"Upstairs."

We all dashed up the stairs and entered the flat, revealing none other than Lestrade sitting ever so casually in one of the chairs.

"Lestrade?" I looked around at the other officers rummaging around the flat.

"What are you doing?!" Sherlock sounded quite angry.

"Well, I knew you'd find the case. I'm not stupid."

"You can't just break into my flat."

"And _you_ can't withhold evidence. And I didn't break into your flat."

"Well, what do you call this then?" Lestrade looked at Sherlock innocently,

"It's a drugs bust."

"Seriously?! This guy, a junkie?! Have you met him?!"  
"John..."  
"I'm pretty sure you could search this flat all day, you wouldn't find anything you could call recreational."  
"John, you probably want to shut up now."  
"Yeah, but come on..." They made eye contact for a few moments and John realized the look on Sherlocks face was quite serious.

"No..." I covered my mouth with my hand in shock. Sherlock looked at me,

"What?"

"You?" John finally realized what Sherlock was saying.

"Shut up!" He spat before turning round to address Lestrade again, "I'm not your sniffer dog."

"No, Anderson's my sniffer dog."

"What, An... Anderson, what are you doing here on a drugs bust?" Lestrade looked at me with mild curiosity as Sherlock began to go off on Anderson.

"So, Lucy..." I smiled at him; tilting my head to the side as a gesture of response. "You runnin' around with these two now?"

"Yes," I smiled at the detective who was currently in a row with Anderson and Donovan, "It's quite a fun way to occupy the time, I highly recommend it." Lestrade chuckled; shaking his head in an almost disapproving manner.

"Of course _you'd_ find it fun." He looked at me in a way that a parent would look at a child. His eyes became serious, and I felt the mood suddenly shift. "Lucy-"

"What? What is it? Did something happen? What-"

"Lucy, nothing happened, it's just..." He put his arm on my shoulder to calms me down. His eyes met mine and his thumb unconsciously began rubbing my shoulder gently. "Just...be careful."

"Is that all?" I did a sort of laugh in relief. Lestrade didn't seem very happy with my response. He removed his hand and looked at me with frustration.

"Lucy, I'm serious!"

"Yes, I know."

"You know how dangerous it can get!"

"Yes, I _know_."

"And your still just a kid!"

"Lestrade!" I yelled and the room became silent. I looked around at them awkwardly and lowered my voice to a reasonable level. I cleared my throat, "Lestrade, I'm 26 years old, I'm not a child. I can handle myself just as well as anyone else, probably even better."

"I know, but-" Lestrade began, but decided that argument was futile. "Just be careful. I know how you can sometimes be..."

"Reckless?" Lestrade sighed. "I'll be fine. No promises on the careful thing though." I smirked. The room was still quiet, watching us. Sherlock studied me with those blue green eyes that could tell anyone's life story, and I wondered what he could tell about me.

"Keep looking, guys!" The room begrudgingly began to search the flat again, but Sherlock was still staring at me curiously. "Or you could help us properly and I'll stand them down." Sherlock snapped back into anger.

"This is childish."

"Well, I'm dealing with a child. Sherlock, this is our case. I'm letting you in, but you do not go off on your own. Clear?"

"Oh, what, so-so-so you set up a pretend drugs bust to bully me?"

"It stops being pretend if they find anything."

"I am clean!"

"Is your flat? All of it?"

"I don't even smoke." Sherlock revealed the nicotine patch on his arm.

"Neither do I." Lestrade pulled up his sleeve; showing his own nicotine patch. "So let's work together. We've found Rachel."

"Oh good! Who is she?" I was happy that Lestrade was proving his usefulness to Sherlock. I would quite enjoy working with both of them.

"Jennifer Wilson's only daughter." Sherlock didn't seem happy with his response.

"Her daughter? Why would she write her daughter's name? Why?"

"Never mind that. We found the case." Anderson pointed to the suitcase in the living room, "According to someone, the murderer has the case, and we found it in the hands of our favorite psychopath."

"I'm not a psychopath, Anderson. I'm a high-functioning sociopath. Do your research." Sherlock turned back to Lestrade, "You need to bring Rachel in. You need to question her. I need to question her."

"She's dead."

"Excellent! How, when and why? Is there a connection? There has to be."

"Well, I doubt it, since she's been dead for fourteen years. Technically she was never alive. Rachel was Jennifer Wilson's stillborn daughter, fourteen years ago." I felt my heart drop. I couldn't imagine what sort of pain the poor woman must of gone through. _Is that why her marriage didn't work?_ I inquired silently to myself. John, too, looked sad. Sherlock on the other hand just looked confused as he tried to understand the workings of sentiment.

"No, that's...that's not right. How... Why would she do that? Why?"

"Why would she think of her daughter in her last moments? Yup – sociopath; I'm seeing it now." Sherlock turned to Anderson with a fed up look.

"She didn't think about her daughter. She scratched her name on the floor with her fingernails. She was dying. It took effort. It would have _hurt_."

"Well, let's all think for a moment. The victims took the poison by their own will, right? Or maybe wrong... Perhaps they were forced to take the poison? Or we're coerced into taking the poison?" John seemed to follow my thinking,

"Well, maybe he ... I don't know, talks to them? Maybe he used the death of her daughter somehow." Sherlock stopped pacing and looked at John.

"Yeah, but that was ages ago. Why would she still be upset?" The room fell silent. Sherlock glanced around briefly before looking back to John. "Not good?"

"Bit not good, yeah." Sherlock decided not to care and continued to delve deeper into the process of how ordinary people think.

"Yeah, but if you were dying ... if you'd been murdered: in your very last few seconds what would you say?"

"'Please, God, let me live.'"

"Oh, use your imagination!"

"I don't have to." Johns face expressed pain that even Sherlock couldn't misread. Sherlock shifted a bit, obviously uncomfortable with the way Johns face made him feel.

"Yeah, but if you were clever, really clever; Jennifer Wilson running all those lovers: she was clever. She's trying to tell us something."

"Isn't the doorbell working? Your taxi's here, Sherlock." Mrs. Hudson said from the door, but Sherlock was not in the mood.

"I didn't order a taxi. Go away." He continued his pacing. Mrs. Hudson looked warily about the flat.

"Oh, dear. They're making such a mess. What are they looking for?"

"It's a drugs bust, Mrs Hudson." John explained. I watched as Sherlock became deep in thought, attempting to block out all the noise.

"But they're just for my hip. They're herbal soothers."

"Shut up, everybody, shut up! Don't move, don't speak, don't breathe. I'm trying to think. Anderson, face the other way. You're putting me off." _Even in a blind rage, he can find a clever way to insult Anderson._ I giggled quietly.

"What? My face is?!"

"Everybody quiet and still. Anderson, turn your back."

"Oh, for God's sake!"

"Your back, now, please!"

"Come on, think. Quick!"

"What about your taxi?"

"MRS HUDSON!" Sherlocks rage echoed through the room. Mrs. Hudson scurried down the stairs, leaving the room in silence as we watched the detective.

"Oh." He smiled in realization. "Ah! She was clever, clever, yes! She's cleverer than you lot and she's dead. Do you see, do you get it? She didn't lose her phone, she never lost it. She planted it on him. When she got out of the car, she knew that she was going to her death. She left the phone in order to lead us to her killer."

"Okay, but how?" Sherlock looked at me in confusion.

"Wha...? What do you mean, how?"

"I mean how does that help us find him." Sherlock looked disappointed.

"Rachel!" The room stared. "Don't you see? Rachel!" I raised my eyebrows in question, still not following his complex brainwork. Sherlock laughed in disbelief.

"Oh, look at you lot. You're all so vacant. And I thought _you_ were starting to catch on." He looked at me when he said this. My face began to flood with heat as it turned red. I just gave a small shrug, unsure of what to say. He continued, "Is it nice not being me? It must be so relaxing. Rachel is not a name."

"It isn't? Then what is it?" I crossed my arms.

"John, on the luggage, there's a label. E-mail address." John immediately read it aloud,

"Er, jennie dot pink at mephone dot org dot uk." Sherlock sat down at the computer and began typing in the address furiously.

"Oh, I've been too slow. She didn't have a laptop, which means she did her business on her phone, so it's a smartphone, it's e-mail enabled. So there was a website for her account. The username is her e-mail address and all together now, the password is?"

"Rachel!" I finally got it.

"So we can read her e-mails. So what?" Sherlock was clearly done with Anderson's idiocy today.

"Anderson, don't talk out loud. You lower the I.Q. of the whole street. We can do much more than just read her e-mails. It's a smartphone, it's got GPS, which means if you lose it you can locate it online. She's leading us directly to the man who killed her."

"Unless he got rid of it."

"We know he didn't."

"Come on, come on. Quickly!" Sherlock yelled at the computer, but it did nothing. Mrs. Hudson came up the stairs again,

"Sherlock, dear. This taxi driver-"  
"Mrs Hudson, isn't it time for your evening soother?" John and I watched the screen like hawks. Please please please please- I urged the computer to hurry up.

"We need to get vehicles, get a helicopter. We're gonna have to move fast. This phone battery won't last for ever."

"We'll just have a map reference, not a name."

"It's a start!" The screen suddenly changed to a map and began to zoom into the location of the phone. Then, it stopped.

"Sherlock..." John saw it too.

"It narrows it down from just anyone in London. It's the first proper lead that we've had."

"Sherlock!" I said with a bit more urgency. He hurried next to me to see the screen for himself.

"What is it? Quickly, where?"

"It's here. It's in two two one Baker Street." Sherlock straightened up,

"How can it be here? How?"

"Well, maybe it was in the case when you brought it back and it fell out somewhere." Lestrade attempted to help, but was quickly shot down.

"What, and I didn't notice it? _Me_? _I_ didn't notice?"

"Plus, the murderer called us with the phone." I explained.

"Guys, we're also looking for a mobile somewhere here, belonged to the victim." Lestrade continued the search. I decided to help out and began searching through the topography of books and notes.

"Sherlock, you okay?" I turned to see Sherlock with a strange look on his face.

"What? Yeah, yeah, I-I'm fine." His voice was vague. It was like he wasn't even there, and i didn't like it.

"So, how can the phone be here?" John tried to get answers, but Sherlock was still lost somewhere in the giant brain of his.

"Dunno..."

"I'll try it again."

"Good idea." Sherlock began to head for the door. _I definitely do not like this._

"Where are you going?" He didn't even look at me.

"Fresh air. Just popping outside for a moment. Won't be long." John and I looked at one another. John frowned and called,

"You sure you're all right?"

"I'm fine." Sherlock called back, and I watched his figure disappear down the stairs. My eyes lingered there for a moment before giving John a confused look. He just shrugged. I went to the window and watched as Sherlock talked to the fore-mentioned cabbie. I watched as Sherlock got in, and I immediately felt a sense of panic run over me.

"John!" I waved him over. We both watched as the taxi drove away.

"What is it?" Lestrade looked at us with a frown.

"It's Sherlock. He just drove off in a cab."

"I told you, he does that." Donovan turned to Lestrade, "He bloody left again. We're wasting our time!" I didn't really pay attention to her complaints. I was too busy watching Johns face as he called the pink lady's phone.

"I'm calling the phone. It's ringing out."

"If it's ringing, it's not here." I ran over to the computer and immediately began searching again.

"Does it matter? Does any of it? You know, he's just a lunatic, and he'll always let you down, and you're wasting your time. All our time." Donovan began her bitching again (pardon my French) and stared down Lestrade for a response.

"Okay, everybody. Done 'ere." He sighed. The officers began putting things back and retrieving their things. I looked at Lestrade with a pout.

"Not even going to stay for tea?" Lestrade gave a half-hearted smile.

"Nah, I've got some work back at the station." He began to put on his coat, "Why did he do that? Why did he have to leave?"

"I don't know..." I looked at the continually searching computer.

"You know him better than I do." John said. Lestrade scoffed.

"I've known him for five years and no, I don't."

"So why do you put up with him?"

"Because I'm desperate, that's why." I giggled at Lestrades exasperated expression. "And because Sherlock Holmes is a great man. And I think one day, if we're very, very lucky, he might even be a good one." He turned and left. I wasn't really sure what that last bit meant, but I could tell Lestrade liked Sherlock in his own way. With everyone else gone, it left just me and John.

"So Lucy..." I looked up at him and smiled.

"So, John."

"I was wondering if you'd like to get dinner." His voice wavered a bit._ I knew he liked me._ I smiled at my successful deduction. John apparently took this as a good sign because he too began smiling. _Well, I'm pretty hungry..._ I consulted my stomach. _A free meal would be nice, but..._

"I need to call my mum first." I remembered that poor mother was waiting for me at home.

"You're mum?"

"Yes. I forgot to tell you, I live with my mother and my uncle next door. I'm afraid they're completely relying on me when it comes to cooking and cleaning, so i need to tell them where the foods located. Mind if I use your phone? I don't have one. I had to borrow Mrs. Hudson's last time." I remembered taking it when we were waiting for Sherlock and John to arrive. Of course I set it back when we... _Wait a second..._ I felt around in my pocket. "Oh, never mind. I forgot, I still have it. Should probably give that back soon..." John gave me a odd look before dismissing it and leaving to retrieve his coat. The phone rang a couple of times before she answered,

"Hello? It's Lucy. Yeah, yeah, I'm fine. Just spent the day with the new neighbors. Turns out one of them is a detective! Isn't that great?! Anyway, I've been helping them solve a murder all day. Remember those suicides? Well they're actually murders! And I'm helping solve it! Oh, also I'm going to dinner with one of them, so I may be a bit late coming home, there's leftovers in the fridge. What? No, of course not! One second. John, you're not going to rape me cause I'm a young attractive stranger, right?" I asked him from the couch. He furrowed his brows, probably unsure of how to even respond. "He says no." John put on his jacket and flexed his hand open and shut as if he was just now realising that he didn't have his cane. He picked it up from a nearby box of papers and faced me again. Suddenly a beep emitted from the computer, causing John and I to immediately look at it.

"Mum, I'm gonna need to call you back..." I closed the phone and watched as the map zoomed in to the phones location. "John?" He set his cane against the table before picking up th screen and looking at it.

"C'mon." He took the computer with him as he made his way to the door. I grabbed my coat and hurried after him, feeling fear begin to well up in my chest.

We got in a cab and directed him using the computer._ I knew something wasn't right. I should've stopped him..._ I mentally scolded myself as the cab sped down the streets of London. It _still_ wasn't as fast as I would've liked it. I pulled out Mrs. Hudson's phone again and began typing in Lestrades number as fast as I could.

_"Hello?"_

"Lestrade! Thank god you picked up. I need you to send some officers down to Roland-Kerr College, it's an emergency!"

_"Lucy? What's 'appened?"_

"I think Sherlock may be in trouble. I've gotta go. Just send some people, and be quick about it!" I hung up.

"Er, left here, please. Left here." John directed. Eventually we made it, but we still needed to find Sherlock. In front of us, there were two identical buildings. I looked at John, unsure of which building to choose.

"Maybe we should split up?" I offered.

"No, what if you find him? There's no way you can protect yourself."

"What about you?" He lifted his jacket a bit and revealed that he had a gun tucked away. I nodded, looking back to the two buildings.

"Right - this way." He chose for us and I followed. We ran through the corridors, shouting Sherlocks name but to no avail. We continued looking through the windows before finding some stairs. We ran up them quickly before continuing the search. _Please be okay._ I burst through one of the doors and John through another. I gave the room a brief search but found nothing.

"SHERLOCK!" I heard Johns voice echo through the halls.

"John? What have you found? John, what..." I stopped behind John. Sherlock. I felt my eyes widen in horror.

_We chose the wrong building._

I found myself running to the window. I banged my fists into the glass, shouting his name over and over.

"Lucy it's no use!" John pulled me away. I felt my eyes begin to well up with tears. My body hurt all over and my stomach felt like it was tied in knots.

"John, what do we do?!" My panic stricken voice yelled. _Don't do it. Please Sherlock, don't do it. _I could feel my heart beat so fast that I thought i may be having a heart attack.

"I-I don't know." John said so quietly I could barely hear it. I looked back to Sherlock, who seemed worlds away, when I remembered something.

"John, you have a gun." I slowly turned to him. His face immediately turned to fright.

"No, no I can't-"

"John, I need you to-"

"No! I can't kill him!"

"John, please! You're the only one who can make that shot!" I looked back to Sherlock who was holding up a pill to the light. _The pill._

John looked at me, then at Sherlock, then back to me.

"_Please_!" I begged him. Tears began to run down my face. When John didn't say anything, I felt that all hope was lost. I watched helplessly as Sherlock lowered the pill and began to slowly bring it to his mouth with trembling fingers.

"SHERLOCK! SHERLOCK STOP!" I tried yelling again. My throat burned, but I didn't stop screaming. The pill just came closer and closer and closer and-

BANG

A bullet ripped right through the cabbies chest. I turned to see John holding up a gun.

"John-"

"C'mon." He quickly grabbed my hand and put away the gun. We ran into the hall before Sherlock could see us. We didn't stop running until we were far away from the building. Police cars zoomed pass us. My hand was still clasped by Johns. It felt warm.

"Thank you." Johns pace was still quick and frantic despite our distance from the building.

"...No problem. I probably would've done it even if you hadn't asked me to."

"But I know it was hard for you." He stopped. "I know that was a lot to ask of you. It really does mean a lot to me. So thanks." He let go of my hand and turned around. His face looked solemn. He didn't say anything, so I gave him a peck on the cheek.

"Sorry about dinner." He said and I laughed. Another police car whizzed by us.

"I think we should go back and check on Sherlock. It'd look suspicious if we weren't there." John nodded and we headed back. When we got there, the police had managed to close off the area. We reached the edge of the police tape and stopped. I stood on my tippy-toes and looked around.

"He's over there." John nodded towards the ambulance. I smiled at the sight of the detective covered by a bright orange blanket. It looked kind of funny, but I kept my giggles inside. Sherlock began speaking with Lestrade but stopped when he noticed John and I standing there. I smiled and waved at him excitedly. _He's okay!_ He said something else to Lestrade before walking over to us and tossing the blanket in a police car window.

"Um, Sergeant Donovan's just been explaining everything, the two pills. Been a dreadful business, hasn't it? Dreadful." I looked at John with confusion. _No she hasn't._ Sherlock didn't seem to accept the answer either.

"...Good shot."

"Yes. Yes, must have been, through that window."

"Well, you'd know. Need to get the powder burns out of your fingers. I don't suppose you'd serve time for this, but let's avoid the court case." I smiled. Yeah. He's okay. John cleared his throat and looked around to see if anyone heard.

"Are you all right?"

"Yes, of course I'm all right."

"Well, you have just killed a man."

"Yes, I..." He was caught. I wondered if he would give me away considering I was the one who told him to shoot. "That's true, innit? But he wasn't a very nice man."

"No. No, he wasn't really, was he?"

"And frankly a bloody awful cabbie." Sherlock and I laughed at this before Sherlock began to lead us away.

"That's true. He was a bad cabbie. Should have seen the route he took us to get here!" This time John and I giggled.

"Stop! Stop, we can't giggle, it's a crime scene! Stop it!"

"You're the one who shot him. Don't blame me."

"Oi, you two keep your voices down!" I said between my giggles.

"Sorry – it's just, um, nerves, I think." John said as we passed Donovan.

"Sorry."

"You were gonna take that damned pill, weren't you?" Sherlock turned to him. The question made my stomach drop.

"Course I wasn't. Biding my time. Knew you'd turn up."

"No you didn't. It's how you get your kicks, isn't it? You risk your life to prove you're clever."

"Why would I do that?"

"Because you're an idiot." Sherlock smiled.

"Sherlock?" I finally found my voice.

"Hmm?" This time he turned to me.

"Don't do _ever_ do that again." I said seriously. Sherlock stopped walking. He looked confused by my anger, but I didn't break our stare. I didn't smile. I wanted him to know how serious I was. _Is this how Lestrade felt?_

"I still don't understand where you come into play." He said after a few moments of silence. "Where were you during all of this?" I opened my mouth but no words came out. _Should I tell him?_ I looked at John, who decided to answer for me.

"She was with me."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. Actually, she was - uh, she..."

"I told him to do it." I looked down to my hands which had began fiddling together nervously. Sherlock looked at John who nodded. He didn't say anything for quite some time. _He must think I'm crazy. I mean, most people do... Probably shouldn't of said anything...maybe by some lucky chance he misheard me?_

"Dinner?" I looked up at him. _Huh. I guess really did mishear me_. But something told me that he heard me just fine considering the fact that we're right next to each other and I didn't mumble. Sherlock smiled at the confused expression on my face and sure enough I began smiling too. But then I remembered.

"Actually, John and I-"

"Are starving." John interrupted. I gave him a look that said 'are you sure?' He just smiled and began walking again.

"End of Baker Street, there's a good Chinese stays open 'til two. You can always tell a good Chinese by examining the bottom third of the door handle-"

"Sherlock. That's him. That's the man I was talking to you about." I did the little _Dun Dun DUUUUNNNN_ in front of me to add dramatic affect.

"I know exactly who that is." Sherlock angrily walked to the man.

"So, another case cracked. How very public spirited ... though that's never really your motivation, is it?" The man seemed almost pleasant.

"What are you doing here?" Sherlock practically hissed.

"As ever, I'm concerned about you."

"Yes, I've been hearing about your 'concern'."

"Always so aggressive. Did it never occur to you that you and I belong on the same side?"

"Oddly enough, no!"

"We have more in common than you like to believe. This petty feud between us is simply childish. People will suffer ... and you know how it always upset Mummy."

"..." _What?_

"I upset her? Me? It wasn't me that upset her, Mycroft."

"No, no, wait. Mummy? Who's Mummy?"

"Mother – our mother. This is my brother, Mycroft."_ ...you can't be serious._ "Putting on weight again?"

"Losing it, in fact."

"There's two of them?!" I looked between Sherlock and Mycroft rapidly.

"He's your brother?!"

"Of course he's my brother."

"So he's not..."

"Not what?" John shrugged.

"I dunno – criminal mastermind?"

"Close enough." Sherlock grimaced at his older brother.

"For goodness' sake. I occupy a minor position in the British government."

"He is the British government, when he's not too busy being the British Secret Service or the CIA on a freelance basis. Good evening, Mycroft. Try not to start a war before I get home. You know what it does for the traffic." Sherlock began to walk away.

"So, when-when you say you're concerned about him, you actually are concerned?" John asked.

"Yes, of course."

"That's sweet." I smiled, but Mycroft ignored my comment.

"I mean, it actually is a childish feud?"

"He's always been so resentful. You can imagine the Christmas dinners."

"Yeah ... no. God, no! I-I'd better, um..."

"It was nice talking to you!" I dragged John along to catch up with Sherlock.

"Good night, Doctor Watson. Lucy."

"So: dim sum."

"Mmm, I can always predict the fortune cookies."

"No you can't!" I laughed. _Can he?_

"Almost can. You did get shot, though."

"Sorry?"

"Not you. John. In Afghanistan. There was an actual wound."

"Oh, yeah. Shoulder."  
"Shoulder! I thought so."  
"No you didn't."  
"The left one."  
"Lucky guess."  
"I never guess."  
"Yes you do." John laughed.

"What are you thinking about?" I noticed the smile on Sherlocks face.

"Moriarty."

"What's Moriarty?"

"I've absolutely no idea." Sherlock said it with a cheery tone. I smiled as we continued down the road. _Sounds like another case to be solved._ I smiled to myself. I was definitely going to stop by 221B more often.

**So what do you think? :D I hope you enjoyed. I'm so glad I finished the first episode! Please review!**


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